


Good Vibrations

by Gem_Gem



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Plug, Awkward Sexual Situations, Implied Slash, M/M, Mrs. Hudson Ships It, this was really fun to write
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 12:19:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4564413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gem_Gem/pseuds/Gem_Gem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What's this little remote for?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Vibrations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TooManyChoices](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooManyChoices/gifts), [KittieHill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittieHill/gifts).



> I wrote this little thing the other night when speaking to my good friends [TooManyChoices](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TooManyChoices/pseuds/TooManyChoices) and [KittieHill](http://archiveofourown.org/users/KittieHill/pseuds/KittieHill)
> 
> Enjoy!

John picked up the small device and frowned, turning it over in his hands as he chewed on the homemade shortbread that Mrs Hudson had left out for them. It was a small thing, soft rectangle in shape with one button on it, and John looked around as he pressed it, waving it in the air and pointing it towards the television first, and then at random points of the area to try and find what the remote switched on.

Sherlock stumbled suddenly into the room, looking wide-eyed and flushed, “J-John…” he gasped, leaning heavily against the wall as he wobbled over, only to collapse to his knees with a low keening sound in the back of his throat.

“Are you okay?” John asked in abrupt concern and confusion, stepping over to him. “Jesus…are you sweating? What’s wrong? Are you ill?”

Sherlock slumped to his stomach and shuddered, reaching out for John as his eyes rolled up, “John…John…”

Putting down the strange remote and his uneaten piece of shortbread, John moved closer and slid to his knees, rolling Sherlock onto his back. Sherlock bucked as soon as his hips met the carpet and groaned outright, writhing and squirming and panting. John looked on with a furrowed brow and glanced down to Sherlock’s shaking thighs and scrambling feet in puzzlement, before his eyes suddenly locked onto the very telling and prominent bulge in Sherlock’s trousers. John blinked rapidly and held up his hands, arching his eyebrows.

“Um. Sherlock?” John started, licking his lips nervously. “What…uh, what’s going on? I mean, besides the obvious?”

Sherlock moaned and slapped his hand down on the floor, wheezing in pleasure, “John!”

John shuffled a few inches closer and eyed Sherlock with bemusement, “Yeah, yeah, I’m here. What is it? Tell me what’s wrong. Sherlock, focus and tell me, I can’t help you unless you tell me.”

“Ah—fuck!” Sherlock grunted lowly, and John stared owlishly as Sherlock wriggled and whined, throwing his hand out again. “John…John the…the—turn it off!”

“Turn…what off?” John asked jerking backward when Sherlock flung out his arm again and nearly hit him in the face. 

“Turn it…turn it off!” Sherlock whined and punched and slapped the carpet as he arched his hips then grabbed for his belt, trying and failing to unbuckle it. “Mm—John!” 

John blushed and quickly grabbed his wrists as he leaned over him, “Sherlock…what in the devil’s name is wrong?” He hissed, checking Sherlock’s pupils, his heart rate and then wrestling for his wrists again when Sherlock pulled his shirt up to expose the white of his stomach. “Have you taken something? Look at me, Sherlock. Have you taken something?”

“No!” Sherlock growled and all but tore his shirt open, uncovering his heaving and flushed torso. “Fuck—John! Turn it…turn…the…the…fucking…f-fuck…”

“What is all this noise about—Oh!” Mrs Hudson exclaimed as she opened the door with wide eyes and fluttering hands. “Oh, I’m…I’m so sorry! I’ll just…I’ll just leave you two lovebirds to it. I didn’t see a thing!—”

“No!” John and Sherlock both shouted simultaneously, making her jump and pause with one hand on the door handle and the other on her chest.

“It’s not what it looks like—and I know what it looks like, I do, but it really, really, really isn’t,” John spluttered and gestured awkwardly before Sherlock inhaled sharply and rutted his hips into the air with a squirming that pushed him along the floor. John grabbed his ankle and pulled him back, hovering over him. “Tell me what’s wrong, Sherlock! Turn what off? What are you talking about? What’s making you be this way?”

Sherlock clawed at John’s arm and then whimpered, diving for his belt again with a widening of his eyes, “Oh! No…no…John! John! J-John!”

“Oh my!” Mrs Hudson gasped as she flushed and shut the door, quickly making her escape when Sherlock groaned and scratched at the belt buckle, tugging and pulling at it frantically. 

John grabbed for Sherlock’s hands, “What are you doing?” 

“I…I’m…I’m…” Sherlock stammered between loud and rumbling moans, scrambling at his trousers and fighting to try and get his trousers off. “John…John…puh-please…please! John! Turn…turn it…off…turn—”

John swallowed uncomfortably as Sherlock threw his head back with a loud thump against the carpet and rutted wildly, gasping and panting and grabbing John’s hand. John tried to speak to him but Sherlock rolled suddenly onto his stomach, squashed John’s hand into his crotch, and groaned brokenly with a tense and strong thrusting of his hips. His entire body went taut and John stiffened when he felt Sherlock’s trapped erection twitch and pulse roughly with bursts of heat that soaked through to dampen the material against John’s fingers.

“Jesus…” John muttered and tried to pull his hand away with a growing blush. “Sherlock…Sherlock, let me…let me go.”

Sherlock was still breathing heavily and twitching, his hips working against the floor and John’s hand as he continued to writhe and kick in pleasure. John frowned and stopped struggling when Sherlock’s breathing got faster and he whined and cried out, shaking violently and then scrambling for his trousers again, rolling onto his back and then to his front, repeatedly.

“Sherlock? Sherlock…what—God sake, tell me what’s wrong?” John asked, looking at his damp hand for a moment and then wiping it on his jeans. “Sherlock? Sherlock, calm down…hey! You’re hyperventilating! Calm down!”

“T-take…take them…off…” Sherlock wheezed, gesturing to his trousers sluggishly and a bit frantic, with his eyes rolling back constantly. “Ah! John…John!”

John hesitated a moment and sat back on his haunches, watching Sherlock whimper and judder, and then sighed and took a deep breath, reaching for Sherlock and holding him still as he unbuckled his belt, popped open the button to his trousers, and slipped down the zipper.

“Yes! Y-yes! Off!” Sherlock cried out with a choked off sound that made John twitch and look up at him. “John…John…yes…off….Take them off!”

“Yeah, okay,” John mumbled, trying not to look at what he was doing as he pulled Sherlock’s trousers down his flailing legs and bucking hips. “Try and…keep still. I can’t—Sherlock! Try not to kick me in the face, please!”

Sherlock moaned in response and held still for about two seconds before he rutted uncontrollably and clawed and touched at his own chest and pelvis, pushing at his penis and trying to slip his fingers inside his underwear. John worked the trousers off his feet and then looked up with a sympathetic wince and an embarrassed flush. Sherlock was still hard and straining the soaked spot of his pants, the shape of him clearly visible through the clinging and sticky fabric.

“Off…” Sherlock breathed and lifted his head long enough to stare heatedly at John, his lips wet and parted and pink. “John…pl-please…off…need…I can’t…”

John coughed, choking on a sudden rumbling sound and his own spit as he gazed at the state of his flatmate. Sherlock was sprawled out along the floor, languid and fidgeting, with his nipples pebbled, chest heaving, hips twitching, and his shaking, lean fingers snapping the waistband of his underwear. John took a shaky breath and looked away, focusing on the tensing of Sherlock’s thigh instead, before he noticed a glistening smear trailing down from beneath the leg of Sherlock’s pants.

John rubbed his face, smelling Sherlock on his palm, “Jesus…Sherlock…what is happening here?” 

“Please! Take…them off!” Sherlock replied with an arch of his hips, stretching more of the damp fabric over his erection with his fingers plucking clumsily at the hem.

John hesitated and shifted uneasily at Sherlock’s waist, “Sherlock…”

“Please!” Sherlock gasped with desperate eyes, grabbing for his hand and forcing it onto his throbbing cock. “Off! Take…take my…take…”

“Okay,” John exclaimed with a shaky voice as he tried to remove his hand from the sodden mess of come that Sherlock was rubbing into his fingers through the material of his underwear. “Okay…just…calm down.”

Sherlock released him after one, long, trembling thrust, and mewled with a quivering whimper, “Off…please…John!”

Nodding as calmly as he could, John shifted closer on his knees and reached to take hold of the waistband. He paused a moment, inhaled deeply, glanced at Sherlock’s twitching penis, and then looked up into Sherlock’s upturned and flushed face before he pulled his underwear down. They were so drenched with a mixture of sweat, pre-ejaculatory fluid and semen that they peeled off from Sherlock’s hot, hard skin with a moist and tacky sound, revealing every inch of Sherlock to the cool air of the sitting room and leaving Sherlock gleaming wet.

Sherlock inhaled abruptly with a look of alarm and grabbed at John, then himself, gripping the base tightly in a vain effort to stop the sudden unexpected pulsing as soon as it bounced free with a wet jerk, spraying pre-ejaculate against John’s chin right before it spurted thickly up John’s cheek and across his mouth in thick streams of come.

Some of it slid past John’s lips and he lurched backward in disbelief, sputtering and shaking, aware of being caught on the chest and thigh by a few more errant and rough bursts. Swiping at his face with the back of his hand, John smeared it across his skin and glared at Sherlock with a burst of humiliation and anger, watching him rut and thrust in the throes of orgasm with his hand still gripping his leaking penis. Sherlock had his head flung back in a silent scream and John roughly used Sherlock’s crumpled trousers to clean himself off on with a scowl, pausing when he distantly noticed a faint humming sort of sound, like the soft vibration of a phone.

“Mm!” Sherlock suddenly groaned when his body relaxed somewhat. “John…John I…I…I’m…please…”

“What?” John asked irritably, gesturing to Sherlock’s underwear left caught on his shaking thighs. “What the hell are we doing, Sherlock? What is this? What’s wrong? I…I don’t know what to do—listen, try and tell me what’s wrong. I know there’s something clearly going on but I don’t know what it is—”

Sherlock grabbed for his pants and tried to push them down, “Off!” 

“But I don’t…why? Why do you want them off?” John frowned deeply and pulled them off in a few tugs, dropping them in a soggy pile with a grimace and a new blossoming blush. “Fine. There! Now, will you please try and tell me what’s wrong? I…I’m not comfortable with you being half naked on the carpet of our living room, Sherlock—”

With a deep and shaking whimper, Sherlock spread his legs, lifted his hips and presented his backside to John. Nestled between his tensing and quivering buttocks sat a black, smooth oblong, and John stared at it for a moment, lost and befuddled, until he blinked in understanding. Sherlock bucked with a soft cry and fell against the floor, wriggling and quivering slowly, covered in sweat and hyperventilating again with his neck arched. He tried reaching for the object himself but kept thrashing weakly and rutting, unable to grasp a good hold of it with his fingers quaking and wet. 

“Shit, Sherlock,” John murmured with a voice pitched low and dry in disbelief and frustration. “What have you done? Why have you…done this? All this for a soddin’ buttplug? Really, Sherlock? Really?”

“Out! Please…take…it…” Sherlock breathed quietly as he shook overwhelmingly. “Please…John…out…please!”

John stared at it and then looked away, “Christ, the things you have me do! This is…this is beyond all doubt, the worst thing—”

“Please!” Sherlock bellowed, kicking out his legs limply and touching his penis and chest with a mad fluttering of his arms. 

Throwing his hands up, John moved back close and shouldered Sherlock’s legs out of the way, “Fine! Fine. You owe me after this. Oh, you owe me big time.”

Sherlock whimpered wetly and John sighed, reaching forward to hook his fingers around the base of the buttplug with care, tensing in shock when he felt the whirring vibrations emanating from the object. He lifted his gaze to Sherlock’s red chest, neck and face, and cleared his throat awkwardly, working the buttplug out slowly but surely, and trying not to stare at the stretched, quivering, and convulsing pink sight of Sherlock’s skin. 

Once it was out entirely, Sherlock tensed, shivered, and then turned on his side with a huge wrecking sigh and an overcome and juddering sound in the back of his throat. John put the plug, still buzzing, on Sherlock’s discarded trousers and hovered over his friend’s side with concern as Sherlock curled up into a ball and suddenly wept, his weak and twitching body slumping against the carpet in a lethargic and gratified state.

“Hey…you okay?” John whispered as he moved to the other side and crawled to touch Sherlock’s sweat-slicked curls. “Sherlock…look at me a moment. Look at me. Are you hurt? Hm? Are you in any discomfort? Sherlock?”

“No,” Sherlock sobbed thickly after a long few moments of wet breathing, covering his face with one hand and shaking. “I…I don’t know why I’m…crying.”

John huffed with a smile and stroked Sherlock’s bare shoulder, pulling his shirt up over it afterward, “It’s okay. I get it. I think it’s the relief of having it out of you. Um…Sherlock? How long did you have that thing inside you for? And why?—I mean, I can…gather why someone else would, but why did you? Please don’t tell me it was to do with an—”

“Experiment,” Sherlock finished for him with a hiccupping inhale and a boneless drop of his arms.

“Oh, Sherlock, for goodness sake!” John muttered, threading his fingers into Sherlock’s hair and then pulling Sherlock’s hand away from his face. “Come on, let’s get you washed. Up you get. Come on.”

Sherlock shook his head and pushed John away feebly, “It was your fault…you turned it on!” He sniffled with a sudden narrowing of his glazed eyes. 

John frowned at him and glanced at the buzzing plug, “…What?”

“It’s remote controlled…” Sherlock said slowly, taking deep breathes to fight away another hiccup. “…I got distracted and… lost it.”

“Oh.” John blinked at Sherlock and then, with a wince, gradually turned to look over at the strange remote, “Oh…oh. Right. Yeah. Well, the good news is, I found it?”

Sherlock scoffed with a hitching huff and watched John as he clambered over to press the button on the remote, turning the plug off instantly. For a moment, John was impressed at the signal strength of the device, as Sherlock had been in another room when John had been pressing it, and then he remembered just how many times he had pushed the button and recoiled in guilt.

“I think…I’m dying,” Sherlock complained from his curled up foetus position, his entire body flushed pink and his backside tensing.

John put the remote in his pocket and moved back to gather Sherlock up against his chest, “You’re not dying…”

“I am…” Sherlock whinged with a shaky breath, a heavy weight in John’s arms. “I can’t move anything…especially my legs.”

John huffed and manhandled Sherlock’s shirt off, then cupped his head to look into his face, waiting until Sherlock sluggishly opened his eyes, “You’re not dying, you great idiot. You’re just exhausted! Now, I’m going to run you a bath, and you’re going to wash up and then you’re going straight to bed—Let this be a lesson to you. I’m not even going to ask why you thought it a good idea to do this sort of…experiment.”

Sherlock frowned and grunted, and John half carried half dragged his friend across the floor and into the bathroom, filling the bath shallowly and then helping Sherlock into it. Sherlock gazed at him dopily and hissed and twitched when he was lowered into the water, his skin still pink and hypersensitive. John looked down at his stained shirt and jeans, touched his still slightly sticky face, and unconsciously licked his lips.

“I think we traumatised Mrs. Hudson,” John said quietly after a moment of watching Sherlock doze in the bath, wetting a towel to wash his face for the time being. 

“More like delighted Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock mumbled under his breath with a quirk to his mouth and shutter of his lashes that John smiled at. “Seeing that has probably made her week.”

“Or month.”

“Or year.”

John grinned at Sherlock with a chuckle and moved to sit on the edge of the bath, running a sponge over Sherlock’s skin and then cupping his face with a fluttering in his stomach and a rush of heat up his spine when Sherlock turned his head with a low sound and looked at him.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback fuels me!


End file.
